Page 125 of The Hockey Grump Saves Christmas

“I was through all that shit when I called you.”

“And how the fuck would I have known that?” He picks his pizza back up.

“Because I explained it all in the email I sent you because you wouldn’t answer your fucking phone.”

He pauses with his pizza midway tohis mouth and I can see the exact second the memory of that pops into his head.

“Oh, yeah,” he says. “I forgot about that.”

“Great. Glad I fucking bothered.”

“Thanks though,” he adds.

“What for?”

“Apologizing for the locker room thing.”

I nod and grab another slice. “Thanks for getting the garlic-buttery shrimp.”

“For old time’s sake,” he says.

And we sit there finishing off the garlic-buttery shrimp pizza from Pappalucci’s and drinking beer, like we used to do to celebrate every win. And it’s almost,almost, like the last year and a half never happened.

Because that’s what real friendship is like.

Wyatt laughs so hard he has to blow his nose. “Seriously, she was wearing a bunny suit?”

“Seriously. And I felt really fucking bad about hurting her ankle.”

“Jesus.” He screws up his snotty kitchen paper and tosses it into the empty pizza box. “Nat’s a good kid. Always been a good kid.”

“What was the boyfriend like? The one who moved to Alaska.”

“Boring as fuck.” He leans forward on the island to emphasize thefuck. “Only met him twice. Once at a wedding and once at a funeral. At one of them he was droning on about a 1970s documentary about trees in Alaska. And at the other I had to walk away when he started to talk about soil nutrients.”

“So, he’s boring on very specific subjects then.” I shake my head. “Just can’t imagine Natalie with someone that dull. She’s so”—how do I say this to make it not sound likeI really liked banging your cousin and I’d really like to do it a lot more?—“not boring.”

Wyatt drains his beer and shrugs. “Probably didn’t think she deserved any better.”

“Yeah, she doesn’t realize how amazing she is, huh?”

“But you do, right?” he says.

I look my friend and Natalie’s cousin directly in the eyes and nod. “I do.”

“Well, then don’t fuck it up.”

“Too late.”

“Oh, Jesus.” He rests his head in his hands. “Let me guess. You really liked her, then decided you’d better back off in case she does you dirty like that other chick or your agent or whoever else screwed you over. Or that being with her might distract you from the game and affect your play. So you walked away.”

“Pretty much.” I wipe a blob of pizza sauce off the counter with my finger. “But possibly worse than that.” I suck off the sauce.

“What could be more loser-ish than that?”

“I didn’t do it to her face. I left a…note.”

“You left a note?” Wyatt’s eyes are approximately the diameter the pizza was an hour ago. “You left a fuckingnote? Did you think you were in an old black-and-white movie or something? Who the fuck leaves afucking note?”

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